In your arms was still delight, <br />Quiet as a street at night; <br />And thoughts of you, I do remember, <br />Were green leaves in a darkened chamber, <br />Were dark clouds in a moonless sky. <br />Love, in you, went passing by, <br />Penetrative, remote, and rare, <br />Like a bird in the wide air, <br />And, as the bird, it left no trace <br />In the heaven of your face. <br />In your stupidity I found <br />The sweet hush after a sweet sound. <br />All about you was the light <br />That dims the greying end of night; <br />Desire was the unrisen sun, <br />Joy the day not yet begun, <br />With tree whispering to tree, <br />Without wind, quietly. <br />Wisdom slept within your hair, <br />And Long-Suffering was there, <br />And, in the flowing of your dress, <br />Undiscerning Tenderness. <br />And when you thought, it seemed to me, <br />Infinitely, and like a sea, <br />About the slight world you had known <br />Your vast unconsciousness was thrown. . . . <br /> <br />O haven without wave or tide! <br />Silence, in which all songs have died! <br />Holy book, where hearts are still! <br />And home at length under the hill! <br />O mother quiet, breasts of peace, <br />Where love itself would faint and cease! <br />O infinite deep I never knew, <br />I would come back, come back to you, <br />Find you, as a pool unstirred, <br />Kneel down by you, and never a word, <br />Lay my head, and nothing said, <br />In your hands, ungarlanded; <br />And a long watch you would keep; <br />And I should sleep, and I should sleep! <br /> <br /> <br />Mataiea, January 1914<br /><br />Rupert Brooke<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/retrospect/
